


The Sadness Will Last Forever

by AnotherUselessPerson



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:44:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherUselessPerson/pseuds/AnotherUselessPerson
Summary: Edwig's Big Adventure





	The Sadness Will Last Forever

His limp body felt extremely warm to the touch, rivaling that of a heating pad. His face was flushed with dripping sweat while his breath smelled strongly of alcohol. For the 20th time, his eyes welled up with tears and the dams behind his eyes became less and less stable. On the brink of collapse is what would describe his feelings as of now. As much as he attempted to avoid it through booze and smoking pot, his mind refused to let agonizing memories go. Even now, while drunk off his ass, his mind stretches beyond the boundary of “okay” and drags him into an abyss of sadness. 

“You okay, dude?” 

“Peachy.” 

Communication with people was proven to be tougher as he kept downing bottle after bottle, like a dehydrated track runner after a long exhausting marathon. Little did he know, his thirst wouldn’t be quenched until he saw nothing but stars hanging over his head and all the noisy thoughts in his head herding into a singular one. That word just being “fuck.” Nothing else. His mind didn’t want to process all the excruciatingly loud sounds around him. Music blared from the speakers as they orchestrated the bass that erupted under the ground. Random guttural sounds from men came after chugging a lot of beer to compete who could become shit-faced first. Constantly, bottle tops would be popped off and seem much more louder on his eardrums. Girls would shout ‘selfie’ or ‘cheese’ when taking photos with their friends. Across the room, there was a pool table, which solved the case of where the ‘clinking’ noises came from. This is too much. It’s so noisy and annoying.

Everything just seemed hazy, and he couldn’t bear being a rag doll against the dorito stained couch; other stains or things littered it, but he saved himself the stomach to not consider it. Dragging himself up to a stance, he felt a wave of sickness and nearly face planted. Luckily, with quick enough reflexes, he caught himself. Nausea boiled inside his stomach, and crawled up his throat. His morning sickness jokes towards his sister, currently two months pregnant, now seemed to be incredibly lame. 

All of his senses were in disagreement with one another and nothing could whack them back in control with his current state. His eyes were uncoordinated and it felt like a hassle to focus on something for more than five seconds. Sluggishly, he approached the sliding door for the backyard, and thought it was open until he got a face full of glass. It kinda hurt, but he got over it. He felt a pinch of embarrassment as he heard faint snickers and giggles from behind him. Taking a few steps back, he opened the door and actually walked through it this time. 

The scenery was obviously different from the inside. There was a pool, and around it were people entertaining themselves in different ways. A few were laid against the longue chairs, and one could only assume that they were passed out drunk. There were people sitting crossed legged on the ground, holding beer cans or glasses while chatting it up. Some were near the vibrating speakers that blared a different tune from inside and danced awkwardly from coordination issues or being horrible dancers. Others were in the pool, swimming and holding contests on who could hold their breath the longest. One guy was passed out against a dinosaur floaty as it floated along the water. Someone drew dicks in sharpie all over his face, and stacked bread on his forehead. Lastly, a couple thought it’d be appropriate to tongue-fuck each other in front of other people, making things X-rated and spicyTM. How cute. 

“Steph, you should come into the water. It feels just nice,” a guy called over to his friend, only to receive an empty beer can chucked playfully at his face. 

Everything just seemed out of synch in this man’s head as he massaged his temples, hoping the pressure on his brain would ease up. After a few moments, which felt like ten minutes in his mind, he stopped and stared longingly at the pool. Like always, his intrusive thoughts came back and bothered him like the aunt no one likes at a family gathering. He imagined throwing himself and going under the water, despite being fully dressed. Just sinking deeper until he hit the bottom, and slowly opened his eyes, only for it to be painfully burned by the chlorine. Once his lungs desperately used up the last bit of oxygen they had left, he would open his mouth. And allow the water to flood in, as bubbles from his nose flown upward. And would feel himself slowly losing....

“Fuck, I gotta stop thinking this,” his whispered to himself. 

His awful fantasy was halted as he walked back inside, without hitting glass this time, and made his way towards the staircase. This definitely was going to be a challenge, as his legs wobbled at random and his knees felt weak. To save himself the loss of dignity from climbing the stairs like a dog, as he usually did when he was drunk at home, he instead held the railing like his life was on the line. And gradually, made progress of going up the steps. After the short hike that felt like an hour, he stood at the top and almost fell backward. He caught himself and was relieved not to see whatever the hell comes after death. Also, it would be pretty lame to have an obituary of, “died falling backwards down the stairs from not being able to handle more than two beers.” 

Like a curious child, he decided to explore with the time he had left in this place. Eventually, everyone would have to go home and deal with the consequences of a hangover the next day. Or see whatever embarrassing things they said or did captured on camera for all of social media to see. Oh, the horrors of what your grandmother on facebook might stumble across. There were a couple doors, but when it’s not your home, it feels like too many. He walked to one of them, and opened it. It was a closet filled with towels and dishrags, it was pretty underwhelming. There was another one, but he heard weird sounds. He pressed his ear against the door, and tuned in whatever focus he had left to listen. What was heard behind the door was exaggerated moans and lewd praises, loud slaps of skin, a headboard of a bed shaking, and a mattress squealing obnoxiously loud. 

He wasn’t interested in voyeurism, nor was he going to interrupt them to see what’s inside the room. He walked away, feeling his face burn from embarrassment, or the alcohol, he couldn’t distinguish it at this point. And approached another door. He opened it, and was slapped by a smothering breeze of cold air. At least one place in the house didn’t feel hot and musky. It was refreshing to feel that tender coldness against his flaming skin. But, it wasn’t long till....

“Get the fuck out of my room! I’M PLAYING MINECRAFT,” a visibly irritated boy screamed, piercing the ears of the people who heard him through the headset. 

He threw down his controller in his tantrum and stomped towards the door, only for it to be slammed in his face. The man didn’t want to engage in whatever violence the smurf had in store for him. His self deprecation and drunkenness was enough punishment for one night. He sighed softly, but jumped once he heard loud screeing behind the door and quickly walked away. Where are his parents? He seriously needs a good slap or two.

Repeating the cycle of intruding in places he didn’t belong, he trailed towards another door and tried to turn the knob, but it was locked. Someone heard his temporary struggle, and unlocked it. Opening it for him. Once it was open, the nostalgic breeze of cold air hit him again, but instead, it was contaminated with the stench of pot and cigarettes. He wheezed from the strength of the smoke cloud, and tried his hardest not to seem like a loser with pathetic lungs. Despite being a pothead himself, he found it hard to adjust to the smoke. Obviously, his body was telling him that it REALLY isn’t his thing. He really should quit. Not only for himself, but to be able to get a job, as well. 

He observed the setting. There were empty cigarette boxes on the floor. For some odd reason, the plastic around beer cans was on the toilet while puke was next to it. There were a couple of empty beer cans that were crushed down. In sharpie, on the wall, there was number with the words “call me” next to it. For now, that’s all he processed. 

The area was mostly populated with girls, with the exception of one guy slouching against a girl who looked way younger than he did. One girl was in the bathtub, chugging down a whole bottle of brandy with her legs spread, despite wearing a dress. Another girl was adjusting her red lipstick in the mirror, which didn’t do justice with making her look any better. There was a girl leaning against a wall, wielding a bowl, smoking whatever contents were inside. Some girl was ruffling her hair, adjusting it to look ‘proper’ for a selfie, which seemed so from how she pointed the camera at herself and made atrocious faces the reflected the trending expression on instagram. Two girls were mumbling to one another as they crouched on the floor, reading a tattoo magazine with a cigarette in their mouths. Finally, the one who opened the door held a blunt in her hand, and gave him a blank expression. 

“‘Sup,” she greeted, her voice monotone. 

“Uh, hey.” 

“You gotta piss or somethin’?” 

“No.” 

“Want some,” the girl smiled smugly and gestured towards a brightly colored bong, in the shape of a dick. How nice for a straight man. 

“No thanks.” 

She shrugged her shoulders, finding no entertainment in the man. And kicked him out for not wanting to have “fun.” Ouch. He felt the rejection, but not too harsh or traumatizing, obviously. She was another piece of work that wouldn’t be remembered the next day and that needed rehab immediately, like he did. He really needed to get his life together, instead of spending all of his time at parties. Or maybe these parties were all a symbolic message on what the inside of his head looked like. He couldn’t be able to tell, he was too drunk off his ass to right now, as he almost always is. 

Another door was opened, and he finally was welcomed to a completely desolate room. He could almost be euphoric, if it weren’t for the emotional turmoil that threatened him to have another suicidal episode. He saw a large bed, and could care less who it belonged to or whatever gross activities happened on it. And just threw himself against it. It shook under his weight, and made a loud creaking sound. He didn’t mind, it was the most soothing sound he heard all day, even if the loud sound made him feel like a total fat ass. The plush blankets felt great under his sweaty skin. Too bad these blankets will be tarnished with his gross man scent. Oh well. 

He kept his face down, obscuring anything from view and breathed heavily. That’s what happens when you put yourself in a predicament where you can’t breathe properly, pretty smart of him. But, the lack of seeing anything was nice. He didn’t want to see anything anymore. His imagination started to soar into the wrong places, and he started to see himself in various unpleasant situations. But...he didn’t want to see the ledge at his feet and the welcoming of death in water under the bridge he always visited. He didn’t want to see the pictures of his exes whose love he missed and wish he could have again. He didn’t want to see the faces of his family who were disappointed in him for dropping out of high school to only become a drunken bastard that only cares about his next shot of liquor and the next time he sleeps. He didn’t want to see the videos of what happened and what events he missed. He just wanted to part ways from this dreadful world, even if it meant he suffocated himself while laying face down. It’s lame, but hey, it’s death. 

Forgetting how his stomach felt, he suddenly felt his body jerk and the bile rise in his throat. He tried to make it to a trash can, but only managed to lift himself up with his hands and his knees holding his weight as he vomited whatever was in his stomach. Not much was in there, really. He was reminded of how many times he should’ve ate something before drinking. His breath tasted awful, and he couldn’t stand it either. Looking down, he definitely ruined the sheets of whatever housewife it belonged to. At least it’ll be their consequence since they left their room unlocked for a bunch of drunkards to invade. But, hey, at least he didn’t leave a mess of jizz behind. Not like he had the sex drive or the person he was in love with to do that with. Raise a glass to loneliness, hey!

He tried to cautiously navigate around his puke, but kinda failed when his hands touched it. He wiped it on the sheets, but still, it didn’t mean he was completely off the hook. His shirt wasn’t only stained with two things, now. Well, luckily for him, there was a personal bathroom in the room that wasn’t infested with junkies and pot heads like the other one. He scrambled for a mouthwash, at the very least. Only a psycho or a love sick freak would use someone else’s toothbrush and think it’s okay. He found a tiny travel sized mouthwash, and accidentally drank some. For the most part, he did what he needed to do. He gargled and spit it out into the sink. He relieved himself of most of the ‘vomit taste,’ but he still cringed at the bit that lingered on his taste buds. Once he was finished, he returned the defiled belonging back to where it belonged and stood a moment, contemplating what he should do next, his fingers tapping in random patterns against the sink. Leave, right? It’s the best option, there’s nothing else to do. Drink, check. Get drunk, check. Puke, check. Wait, there wasn’t a depressive epi-

He didn’t realize it, but there was a mirror in front of him. You know, as most sinks have. It was too late to avoid it when his eyes landed on his own reflection. His eyes widened, even blinking a couple times to see if he saw things correctly. He didn’t want to believe he was the person that the mirror reflected, could it be someone else? He looked like an absolute trash can that was long overdue to be thrown into the dump. His long, matted burgundy hair looked like a mop of knots that could hide a midget inside. His eyes had bags for miles, and the emerald that once resigned in his irises looked dull and devoid of any “life.” Even his complexion became lighter than it was all ready, making him compete with the color of the crypt keeper’s hair. His jacket looked dingy, and his shirt was stained with food, booze, and even a little bit of puke. Nice. 

“Is this.....what I always look like?” 

He felt his face contorting, and even witnessed the grotesque sight of his muscles fighting beneath his skin. The corners of his eyes bubbled with tears as they stung. He gripped the corners of the pearly white sink, letting the grime on his hands dirty it and arched his body. Bowing his head, his messy hair dropped from behind his back and draped at the sides of his face. He looked into the hole of the sink, seeing the image blur more as tears kept falling and his nose dripped. The hole almost seemed like it would be his sanctuary and that he’d liquify, disappear into the drain, and disperse completely into the water as nothing. Please, let this miserable life end all ready. It’s not worth the pain and suffering. Living is a slow, agonizing death. There’s nothing beautiful about it, it’s all cruel and disgusting. Only a masochist would be fine with such torment. He wasn’t, not at all. He couldn’t take it anymore. He can’t, he just can’t-

Finally, a low wail was produced from his throat. He couldn’t contain the emotions he had held in all week, and felt his heart collapse into many pieces that he’d never be able to fully recover. Here we go again. His lungs gasped for air as his sobbing messed with his breathing. His throat tensed up tightly, and his body shook in response to his sobs. He was the epitome of the after party of escapisms; crashing and succumbing to the misery that is kept inside. It came to bite him in the ass, yet he still didn’t expect that it would hit him this hard. He long ago realized that his methods won’t pacify his loneliness and depression, but still entertained them to not burden anyone else with his problems. He knew his self destructive nature will only bring a falsified happiness, but he still wanted to enjoy it to the fullest. And disappear, as he felt everything else did. Because nothing in life is worth it for all the pain he suffers with daily. 

All of the emotions cased up in the beer glass exploded and mixed up with his tears and snot. His body felt like a casket once all emotions drained away and the emptiness followed suit. He fell back onto the tiled floor, defeated, and scooted till he was up against a wall. He looked towards the ceiling, unfocused, and no longer felt the tears pouring from his eyes. His cheeks felt numb from the streams of moisture. His arms rested lazily at his sides, and his legs were spread apart. Awful, is how he would describe it. His heart felt limp from all the beating, and tensing. The high after a meltdown was dragging him in. He couldn’t feel anything anymore. Everything is awful. 

Everything just seemed so.....so....

It was morning. He was cuddled up against the corner of the bathroom, and slowly woke up to the loud sounds of a vacuum downstairs. His eyes still felt puffy, and his head blared the word “pain” over and over from his hangover. He gripped his head, clenching his teeth together from the pain before easing up and dragging himself to his feet. His body felt like lead, but he wasn’t going to be a deadweight in a stranger’s house, like he usually is with everyone else important in his life. He passed the doors he previously opened, and the other two he didn’t, and made his way downstairs. He looked around and noticed how trashed the place looked. It’s unorganized and fucked up, like how his brain currently felt. Good job with taking care of yourself. 

“Oh, someone didn’t go home.” 

A guy held a trash bag and picked up the party cups that were thrown all over the floor. He seemed disinterested in picking up the glass ones that were shattered from either being stepped on or thrown. He looked at the man, and said it in a way that almost sounded like a question. He gave a smile, before returning to his duty of picking up trash. The gamer he saw yesterday was downing a bunch of Doritos and drinking Mt. Dew for breakfast, because health is really valued in America. With a diet like that, you would only assume his body type would reflect whatever the hell shape Jabba the Hutt is, but instead, he was one skinny motherfucker. 

‘Lucky bastard. Fuck him and his metabolism,’ he looked down at himself, noticing his stomach that only grew larger from all the moon pies and zebra cakes he ate when having the munchies; oh, and of course drinking, there’s that.

He grew curious where the host had been off to. Her name was...Meredith? He couldn’t remember at the moment. But, he could easily recognize the mousy, fluffy hair once the woman herself walked inside, yawning and stretching. He couldn’t help but snort when he saw the girl vandalized with sharpie all over her skin. Obviously, there were the sexual things like “cum dumpster” written on her stomach with an arrow pointing downward and a couple of dicks on her face. Some other things like “Jeremy’s property” or “dyke” was randomly placed on her arms. He wasn’t sure if she noticed it on herself as she casually strolled in, and received a couple long stares. 

“Hmm, what’re you guys starin’ for? Do I have somethin’ on my face? I was eatin’ cheetos, must be the cheetle from the puffs,” she roughly wiped her lips with her thumb, but felt nothing come off, “Seriously, what’s with the looks?”

The gamer boy couldn’t hold in the laughter anymore, and laughed obnoxiously loud. His body shook as he howled, entertaining her curiosity as she quirked a brow. He brought his hand over his mouth, in an effort to calm himself down to speak. She grew impatient, and shown it through her body language; her foot that was missing a sandal tapped against the floor and both of her hands placed on her hips. 

“They got you,” he started, his voice cutting out from the laughter, “Look at your stomach. That’s your fault for wearing a sluttly crop top, Mary,” he referred to her as a nickname with a taunt in his voice as he brought the cup of soda to his mouth, choking a moment from the laughter. 

She looked down at her stomach momentarily, and noticed the awful writing and arrow. Her expression shifted from impatient to furious within an instant. Wow, that was quick. The heavy, drawn out sigh she released could split the entire equator. The other boy shoveling trash into the garbage bag finally looked over and snickered softly to himself. She acknowledged where the sound came from and gave him a harsh glare, not taking anyone’s shit. He visibly jumped out of his skin from the intimidating look in her eyes. From that, he quickly turned his head and continued cleaning with an anxious expression. She walked over to the sink, and picked up one of the brightly colored sponges. She doused it with dish soap and started to scrub her stomach to get rid of the offensive label. It’s almost as if she was trying to scrub out her regret and mistakes. 

“Don’t forget your face,” another boy emerged from the living room, and held a part of the vacuum cleaner to empty out into the trash can, “This is exactly why you cannot fall asleep around others at a party. I keep warning you,” he emptied the dust and various other things that dirtied the filter inside the vacuum, “Just take a shower. It’ll be easier to take off. Can’t guarantee that it’ll be washed off completely. It is sharpie after all. Seriously, we need to ban these things each time we have a party,” he said as he returned back to the vacuum and placed the part he had back into place, flipping the switch on again to continue vacuuming. 

She decided she would clean herself properly, especially since she reeked of other various things. A night of partying did have its downsides. Once she looked over at the man standing silently and watching the others, she tilted her head slightly and gave a curious look. He did look creepy just standing there, and watching them all. Little did she know, social anxiety is a thing. But, he didn’t know that he seriously should’ve left ages ago. 

“You haven’t gone home yet? Do you need a ride,” she offered the boy.

He was shaken out of his trance when he noticed her staring directly at him, and quickly shook his head ‘no,’ rejecting her offer.

“Who are you anyways?”

“Uh, I’m...” he glanced at his feet, feeling a little anxious towards the stranger, “I’m Edwig. You obviously don’t know me, but my friend Elliot does. He was the one who invited me along with him. I honestly don’t know where he went, we got separated during the party. I think he was hanging with a woman named...Allia? Aria, uh…”

“You mean Amelia,” she corrected, “Can you even believe that girl,” she waved around the sponge in her hand as she spoke, forgetting to return it, “That girl is such a freak. After a night of partyin’, she wants to hold one herself. Just, wow, a second party after just attendin’ one? She’s nuts. Like, personally, I could only destroy my liver and brain for one night of the week and that’s it,” she criticized as she walked towards the boy and placed her hand softly on his shoulder, “Anyways, last chance before I go clean this shit off of me. Do you need a ride home?” 

Once again, he declined her offer. She gave him a stiff smile, patted his shoulder, and walked passed him towards the staircase. He was reminded of his own hygiene; he needed a thorough cleaning himself. He waved the other boys goodbye and exited the home. He could only imagine how long it’s going to take for them to pick up their mista- uh, mess. Yes. 

‘I really should’ve accepted her ride home. It’s going to take forever to get there,’ he regretted his decisions as he always did, but at the same time, he didn’t want her to waste gas on a guy that wasn’t responsible enough to leave when everyone else did. 

Idiot. 

After an hour, he finally reached home, well, not his home, but his parent’s house that he stayed at. Unlike most people his age who decided to ditch pleasing their parents with going to college and moved out with a couple friends to have as roommates for a stable lifestyle, he stayed at home. He didn’t bother with doing much with himself and felt far too unmotivated to do anything else but drown himself in unhealthy escapisms and disappoint his parents. He felt like dying constantly and doesn’t think his future would be bright to even look forward to. Just what is the point? A useless person will always be a useless person and should just di-

Luckily for him, he was given a personal key and inserted it into the lock. After twisting it the correct way, he unlocked it and swung the door open. Once he stepped inside, he closed the door after himself and took his shoes off. Finally, the feeling of carpet beneath his sore feet felt comforting, instead of a bunch of sticky stains from soda spills, piss, and other things clinging to the bottom of his sneakers that he now had to clean up later. 

The first thing he was greeted with was an exhausted expression. That face belonging to his mother, who settled herself at the table with breakfast she made. She glanced over at Edwig, and sighed from how much he radiated “dead-weight” from his aura. Well, that’s what he assumed at least. 

“Have fun?”

“Depends on what you define as fun.”

“It definitely wouldn’t be drinking and smoking while being surrounded by a bunch of idiots,” his mother replied back to him, equally sarcastic, and brought a piece of toast with strawberry jelly to her mouth to chew on, “You really need to get yourself out of the gutter. Come on, I didn’t raise you to end up falling into a hole like this. It’s kinda ironic, you were always the one most against doing things like this. And, here you are, letting it destroy you.”

“I’m the walking definition of a hypocrite. Get over it,” he quickly retaliated, heading towards the fridge and retrieving a water bottle. 

She face palmed with a low sigh, feeling her nerves being toyed with by his typical self deprecation. He checked the cabinets for any pain killers, and found aspirin. He popped a little more than he should have, and took a nice, long sip from his water bottle. A.K.A. downing the whole bottle and chucking it into the recycling. 

“Edwig,” his mother called out to him, her expression gradually shifting to that of a distraught one, “You know I care about your well being. I want you to get better. I used to deal with severe depression at your age as well,” her tone became softer and more careful as she emerged from her seat and approached him, “Have you been taking your medicine? You know you have a therapy appointment coming up, Susan will be upset with you for not taking care of yourself.”

“Why should I care about those useless things,” he shifted his eyes in her direction, “They’re only like a pacifier. They’ll ease your pain, but the problem is still fucking there,” he sighed, letting his childish thoughts surface, “And why should I even give a shit about what she feels? She doesn’t go through what I go through. She’s only trying to feel better about herself by listening to my misery and thinking that talking about it will help anything. Well, guess what? It makes me feel WORSE and like a burden each time.”

“Honey, you shouldn’t say that about your-”

“I am,” he saw the worry in her eyes and felt more upset with himself, “If I wasn’t, I would’ve gone to college by now, and worked hard for a career. Or, at least move out and stop wasting your food and water,” his anxiety levels were increasing by the second, “Just admit it, you’re tired of me, too. Just like dad. He wants to get rid of me, fine! I’ll live on the fucking street and rot like I was always meant to,” he ended with a sour note and quickly walked away, taking this chance to part from her and not feel more disgusted by himself.

He quietly shut the door, not wanting to seem like his anger was getting the best of him or act like your stereotypical angsty teenager after an argument. That, or wake up his father and get lectured. Forget showering for now, do it later. Once his sights were set on his unkempt bed, he planked his body against it and took a deep whiff of it. It smells like the strawberry vodka from the other day, he wanted some more. 

He got comfortable under his blanket, and rested his head against his pillow. His stuffed animal, an owl, laid next to him. Like usual, he pulled up his phone and checked social media. He had no real reason to have it, besides Elliot; someone who could put up with him, other than his mother. And, sadly, one of the only three people he had in his contacts besides his mom and dad. Who wants to socialize with an idiot who can’t even hold a conversation without getting upset and venting? He noticed a red dot marked with the number 7 above his default messaging app. He received a couple of messages from Elliot earlier this morning when he was passed out. He opened up the inbox, and selected Elliot’s name. 

Friday, June 7th. 3:41 AM

Elliot: Hey, hey, hey! You disappeared on me! I was only getting some soda with Ame and would come right back! You ditched me, meanie! I’ll be sure to scold you later!

3:45 AM

Elliot: Ah, well. So, anyways, Ame decided that she’s gonna throw her own party today! Sweet, right? I want you to come!

3:50 AM

Elliot: I promise, it’ll be a blast! I mean, I know you’re a lightweight, but keep on and you’ll eventually grow a tolerance like me! 

Edwig could just taste the smugness in that message. 

3:57 AM

Elliot: Ame even has this cute friend of hers. Her name is Verona. Maybe, y’know, you could uh… “hang out?” I mean, it’ll be fun! I know you’re not over them, but you need to get out there and MINGLE! It’s been a year. Have fun with romance before you’ll eventually have to settle down when you’re older. Casual dating is fun. STOP moping over them and you’ll be much happier!

He could feel his grip on the phone getting tighter, and imagined himself chucking his phone at the wall; seeing the glass broken and spilled along the floor and maybe walk on it to punish himself. He shook his head, not wanting to think of self destructive behaviors. He wanted to think about how frustrated he was with Elliot, not punish himself for being mad. He acts like that’s the only problem! There’s other things, like Joshie completely ditching everyone and the fact that he kept failing piss tests to get a job. He loathed how everyone believed all of his current problems revolved around his exes after he’s vented about it plenty of times. Hello? He’s been suicidal ever since he was a child, and always shown clear signs of depression, what the fuck? Elliot’s only making the romantic pain surface more than the others today, this is miserable. He couldn’t handle seeing anymore of the messages, and swiped off the message box. It was enough, he’ll read the rest later. For now, he wanted to close his eyes, and forget his complicated feelings. He was growing more and more upset. His only medicine would be some rest, that’ll probably last for a good couple hours because depression totally gives you the energy you need during the day. After a couple moments, he shifted onto his stomach and burrowed his face between his crossed arms and allowed sleep to lure him into the land of unconsciousness and a falsified reality. 

It was hours later now. He finally felt the groggy sensation of waking up, and noticed a pool of saliva on his pillow. He wiped his mouth, and pulled himself up, his body stiff from sleeping. He stretched his limbs, and flexed his toes, hearing the sounds of his bones crack. After that, he gave his owl a pet on the head, giving it a weak smile. Who knew stuffed animals could be your best companion? He certainly thought it was peculiar, but they’re better than people. He looked at his phone. It currently was 9:40 PM. He really needed to start sleeping normally. Or he’ll regret it once he gets a job...that is, if he gets one. Smoking pot really isn’t the best idea. He decided to torture himself more with the messages and opened the application once again. There were two more messages added from the last three he needed to read. 

4:03 AM

Elliot: Uh, sorry if I upset you with that last message!

Already too late for that. 

4:07 AM

Elliot: Well, like I said, about the party, I’ll give you the address. Here: 537 Woodland St. She’ll start it at 8. Don’t be late! ;3

4:12 AM

Elliot: And don’t leave me this time! Or I’ll put crazy glue on our shirts and we’ll be stuck together for the entire night!

Sounds like something he’d do. Now, onto the new messages. 

8:27 PM

Elliot: EDDY, where are YOU?!! I told you a time and place! Why are you not here yet??

8:34 PM

Elliot: Well, whenever you see this, hurry over! They have that one weird spiced rum you like...seriously, how do you even drink that? It makes my tummy feel on fire. Wait, lemme not get sidetracked, hurry up, Edd! I wanna have fun with you! :3

Once again, the second night in a row, he’ll be attending a party. He really needed a new hobby, besides having sad wank sessions that would make him cry right after orgasm and watching old shows that he used to watch with ‘her.’

Wanting to seem the least bit presentable, he went to take a 15 minute shower, which obviously lasted 40 minutes, as always. I mean, the longest he ever did was 3 hours, but that was from a horrible suicidal episode he really wanted to forget. He threw on some jeans, a plain shirt, sneakers, and the jacket he always wears. He brushed his hair back into a low ponytail, and put some concealer on to hide acne and tiny scars he received from picking at his pimples. Now, he was ready. 

He strolled down the steps, and saw his father. He was sitting on a couch and watching reruns of his favorite show silently. His mother was preparing his father’s lunch for work tomorrow. Through his thick glasses, his father looked over at him and shot him an annoyed look. 

“Don’t forget your dignity. Oh wait, you won’t be needing that,” his father insulted him, and it hit Edwig immediately, making him lose his composure and frown. 

His mother stomped over from that comment, and scolded her husband. He really didn’t want to be around for the whole speech of ‘our son is just sick and needs to relax, he’ll get better eventually’ from his mother. While, his father would counter with ‘he’s a grownass man who needs to get over himself and get on with life.’

Edwig called a cab, and had waited 20 minutes before it arrived. He gave the address, and was on his way. The ride was fairly short, and he barely had to pay much to the cab driver. After thanking the man, he walked towards the home and made his way up the steps. The music was muffled behind the walls, but was still loud enough to be heard from where he stood, it was loud enough for even the neighbors to hear. Hopefully they don’t call the cops. He inhaled deeply, before knocking loud enough for someone nearby to answer. After two minutes, a dark skinned woman with bright neon green hair opened the door. She gave a look, as if she just saw a man for the first time ever, and called over to the host. 

“Amelia, some white boy is here.” 

“Who?”

“I don’t know, come look.”

He really hated the feeling of always being unfamiliar to people. Always being an unrecognizable face. An anonymous person that never stood out and whose name will always be unknown. But, it’s better that no one knew him. He was nothing more than a crybaby that can’t handle life and will most likely never function properly. 

“Tamika, that’s Edwig! Elliot’s friend!”

“Really,” she queried, looking him up and down with focused eyes, “Don’t seem like the type to hang out with him. Looks too gloomy to me,” she looked back at Amelia, and decided to become closer and whispered into her ear, “You sure he’s a friend, and not someone Elly has as ‘friend: B’ or pities,” she asked, and didn’t realize how loud her whisper was; loud enough for Edwig to hear and make him physically flinch. Ouch. 

“Tamika, don’t be rude now! Gosh,” Amelia playfully punched her in the arm, and looked over at Edwig, “Anyways, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Amelia, as you know! You’re always welcomed in my home,” the other woman walked away as Amelia took his hand with both of her own and held it, “Have fun, but be sure to not break anything or you’ll suffer the consequences,” she exclaimed with a bright smile, almost too blinding for his edgy darkness. He also didn’t know if what she just said was an empty threat or not, but he’ll be sure to listen to her rule. 

After being welcomed inside, he headed towards the midpoint of the living room and awkwardly stood there. He looked through the tight crowd for a certain latino twink. He really should’ve brought his glasses, sucks being near-sighted. He was startled once he heard his nickname shouted, and looked behind him. It was an atrocious sight. Elliot’s appearance consisted of sneakers, booty shorts, thigh highs, a crop top, and a choker. Edwig did not like that one bit. He hated when people stared at Elliot, tried to touch him without permission, or bullied him about dressing too ‘faggot’ like. Maybe his ‘overprotective friend’ instincts just kicked into overdrive too much at times. 

“E.d.d.y,” he spelled, stretching out the letters, “You really are something else...I told you to be here on time,” he inched closer and repeatedly punched at Edwig’s chest softly, like a child throwing a tantrum on the floor, “You need to start listening,” he whined as Edwig averted his eyes, and sighed in embarrassment from others staring, “Well, anyways, come on! I told you that one of your favorite icky drinks is here! Let’s go get you some,” he smiled, but it quickly turned into a sly grin, “Then, you can meet the cutie I wanted to introduce you to.”

Edwig felt his heart clench, as if someone squeezed it to taunt him. He started to breathe slower, and felt his skin growing icy cold, contradicting the fire he felt brewing in his veins and boiling his blood. Though, he was quickly shaken out of his tiny attack as Elliot took him by the hand and guided him towards the kitchen. 

There, he noticed the awful mess piling up. Did Amelia even notice this?! There were many ashtrays that were filled to the brim and had cigarettes falling out of it. Empty beer bottles and cans littered the counters, there was even some glass on the floor, oh god. Party cups were either on the counter or thrown on the floor. There were some empty cupcake trays, which one could only assume had alcohol in it. Some of the cream from those things were smeared on the counters. There were some spills on the floor that began sticking. The bowls set out for the chips were almost empty and the chip bags were left next to them, purged as well. The trash can next to the counter was filled to the top, and some things fell to the floor. Glow sticks that were defiled had the contents inside of it spilling onto whatever surface it laid against. For some odd reason, there even was a dirty shirt hanging off the fridge. Is that...a pair of boxers he sees? He noticed the cereal boxes were emptied as well, obviously by the potheads. Many other things littered the kitchen, but he couldn’t process it all at once. It was awful, and really made Edwig anxious. Wow, he would like to clean up a mess other people made but couldn’t even clean the mess in his own brain? How ironic. 

Elliot helped him not focus on the hurricane that had swept through the kitchen as he poured him a cup of the rum he spoke about earlier and handed it to him. For himself, Elliot poured some other drink and mixed in soda. He plucked a light blue straw from the counter, and placed it into his cup. And sipped away with sounds of delight. 

“Sooooo…” he leaned against the counter, playing with the straw by swirling it around in circles, making mini cyclones, “I was thinking about having a pool party at my house next weekend,” he wanted to start with small talk, which Edwig didn’t feel uncomfortable with when it came to him, “I’m talking pool floaties, nice lounge chairs, a couple of speakers put out with Daren as a DJ, maybe some cute boys,” he snickered to himself at the last part, “Would you be down for it?”

“I honestly don’t...know…”

“Oh, right, right! You’re uh..” he gestured his hand towards his own thighs and dragged it up towards his stomach, “thing. Welllll, you know, they have some shirts made for swimming and even some pants long enough for that, that also are fitting rather than loose. But, either way, it’s fine. If you aren’t comfortable, you don’t have to get in the water.”

“But, what would be the point of attending a pool party when you don’t even go into the pool?”

“Bah! It’s a party either way! You won’t have to get wet at a pool party. When Sammy got his hair done, he wasn’t going to put on a swimming cap because he said it made him ‘look like a cancer patient’ and decided to hang on the side. See, it’s no biggie to NOT go into the water,” he tried to convince him that it wouldn’t be a big deal, but Edwig knew that once the day came, Elliot would probably urge him to get into the water when he was really wasted. 

“I guess I’ll go. Just don’t take off your swim trunks like last time! I’m serious.”

“I knew you’d come around,” he giggled softly, but his expression quickly changed once he realized what the last comment meant, “See, the reason that happened last time was because I was dared by Miranda,” he moaned with a flustered expression. 

“Mhm, sureeee. It totally wasn’t for Micheal to see your behind,” he teased, wanting to toy with him a little. 

“Ay,” he barked playfully, “Look who’s giving lip. You got attitude, huh? I’ll beat your butt,” Elliot put down his cup gently and launched towards Edwig after his cup of rum was put down. He assaulted him, which in his own way, was tickling him in all the spots he knew would give the best reactions and make him laugh the most. 

“Stop, stop,” he couldn’t help but roar with laughter, the natural nervous response to being tickled and kept trying to push him away as his body jerked in every which way, “I can’t breathe!”

For a couple moments, Elliot tormented Edwig with his hands. He explored the ticklish areas he knew and kept attacking those spots. Edwig fell to the ground from all of the struggle, and Elliot followed after. Finally, he quit and left Edwig panting from the lack of breathing correctly, slumped against a counter. Luckily, he sat against the part of the floor that didn’t have anything that would stain his pants or stab him. Edwig playfully hit the top of Elliot’s head, and Elliot pretended to act like it hurt him, placing both hands in that spot. 

“Ouch, ooh! You wounded me,” he said dramatically as he fell against him, plopping his face against the crook of Edwig’s neck, “You know, you have a cute smile and laugh. I wish I could see it from you more often,” his tone was softened and sounded genuine, catching Edwig off guard, “I like seeing you happy, even if it’s just for a moment…”

What? What is he even saying?? Heh???????

“Hey, don’t get all sentimental! You didn’t even have enough to drink yet and you’re already acting like a teddy bear,” he shoved Elliot off of him, which as a result, had Elliot putting his hands in the air towards him, grabbing at nothing. 

“Ah, you’re so mean,” he whined with his eyes shut, acting like a child that was rejected a hug from an elder sibling on school-grounds to not look ‘uncool’, “Anyways, I think I should introduce you guys now. Amelia is waiting in the back with her,” he claimed, slowly dragging himself up and offering a hand. 

Edwig took his hand, and was pulled up into a stance. He didn’t even realize it yet, but he had an iron grip on Elliot’s hand and didn’t let go. His eyes became unfocused, and his brain started to feel deprived of proper thoughts as it spiraled downward. He started to shake from the anxiety that bubbled in his stomach, and his eyes darted around, looking for an exit to escape. He really wanted to go home and just melt into his bed like chocolate in the sun. And not be bothered ever again. 

“Hello? Earth to Eddy? You’re zoning out again and gripping my hand really tightly,” Elliot waved his hand from side to side in front of his face, “Oh wait, is this one of your dissociative things? Are you okay,” he kept throwing question after question, growing more concerned as a couple minutes went by, “Eddy?”

From the shift of vibrations beneath their feet due to the song being changed, Edwig shook his head as his mind came readjusted back into reality. He saw blue eyes boring into his skull, thick eyebrows raised and glossy lips parted slightly. He knew that expression anywhere. He was really unsettled by what the fuck just happened now. Goddammit. 

‘Can I just die now,’ he mentally questioned himself, and knew the answer. No you can’t, fuckass. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. Let’s just get our cups. If you really don’t want to meet her, that’s fine as well,” he grabbed the cup from the counter and handed it to him, retrieving his own in the process, “She won’t bite, I promise. She’s even into all the dorky things you like. Uh, you know, the manga and anime stuff. She even watches horror movies. I can’t with those, I don’t want any creepy demon nuns showing up in the corner of the bathroom while I’m on the toilet. Like, ‘you don’t pay rent here, get out.’ Pfft,” he chuckled, and took another sip of his drink. 

Edwig just looked down into his cup. He wanted to dive into it, and drown. He took an anxiety sip, or so he thought. He ended up drinking the entire thing in one go and took the entire damn bottle from the table where a couple of bottles resigned. No one else seemed to like that stuff, so he ended up drinking directly from it like a thirsty whore. In a minute, it was all gone. Not a single drop left, all emptied out down his throat and into his stomach. His brain will turn into a mess of wires any moment now. He is a lightweight, if it wasn’t obvious enough. Elliot just looked at him with widened eyes, shocked by his eagerness to drink now. He decided to remove his straw to down whatever left he had in his cup, and slammed it against the counter. It didn’t have much impact since it was plastic, but it did deliver the message. 

“Looks like someone’s trying to have some fun now,” he sported a toothy smile, returning back to his usual mood, “Well, all right, enough stalling, let’s go meet up with them,” he strutted out of the kitchen, feeling a little more bubbly with more alcohol in his system. 

Edwig stuffed the bottle into the trash can, got a smaller bottle of beer, and followed after. As they walked through the crowd of people chatting with drinks or whatever else in their hands, he noticed a man eyeing Elliot. He completely shifted his attention away from his worries and glowered at him. The guy didn’t see him at first, but when he did, he squinted his eyes and mouthed ‘what the fuck?’ From the short staring contest, the man eventually looked away in annoyance and Edwig smiled, in victory. Momentarily, his anxiety eased up and he held pride in his hands. 

‘Damn straight,’ he thought to himself, ‘he better fuck off.’

Once they were in the back of the house, he noticed Amelia next to a girl. He could only assume that it was none other than this Verona girl that Elliot wants him to meet. The girl that Elliot wants him to hang out with. To get to know her, and then touch her body. Fuck her till the point he forgets about every single memory and feelings he has for his exes deep inside his disgusting, fucked up heart that refuses to let go and that doesn’t want to realize they’re completely out of reach. Just, fuck away every drop of pain coiled inside of his body. Who cares about his feelings? No one does and nor should he. 

“Oh hey,” Amelia greeted them, and hugged Elliot, the usual ritual, “So, Edwig, this is Verona. And Verona, this is Edwig. Say hi!”

Neither of them gave eye contact, obviously they either were too shy or anxious to directly communicate. Most weebs were socially awkward, obviously. The tension started to grow heavy between all four of them. Amelia looked over at Elliot with a nervous smile, his expression was flat and he shrugged. They knew they couldn’t just force introverts to speak to one another. Edwig took a swing at his beer, and finally spoke up. 

“Uhm,” Edwig swallowed thickly, preparing himself for the worst, as expected from his paranoia, “Yes, I’m Edwig, nice to meet you,” he offered his other hand to shake, even if he hated touching other people, he needed to be polite. 

She complied with the friendly gesture, and held out her hand. He felt the warmness that radiated from her palm and knuckles that protruded beneath her soft, feminine skin as they shook hands. It was nice to feel a tinier, softer hand that was the complete opposite of his; rigid and large. This was progress. They awkwardly smiled at one another and withdrew their hands. Her gentle touch still lingered, and he couldn’t relax his thoughts from tornado that swirled inside his chest. He needed to get away. He stared at the group, and suddenly muttered something like a moron who can’t speak properly, excusing himself to the bathroom as he quickly dashed away. Elliot tried to call out to him and ask what he said, no one in the group understood his quick rambling. But, Edwig was too far away now. He accidentally rammed into someone, spilling some of his drink on them, and they got defensive. He apologized profusely and climbed the steps. Even though, he had to shuffle through some scene kids that were recording themselves for a vlog on the steps. Once again, when he was at the top, he was playing ‘what’s behind door number 1, 2, 3, 4, 5…’ Oh, there’s even more doors this time. Great. 

He twisted the knob on one of them, it didn’t open. He twisted another, it was a child’s room. From his paternal instincts, he turned the lock on the other side to make sure no one would go into the room. It doesn’t deserve to be trashed. He approached another door, and tried to open it, but someone threw their weight against the door and he heard it lock. Another door was before him, and he opened it. It wasn’t the bathroom, but he just thought ‘fuck it,’ and locked himself in. It was another room, and it looked as if it belonged to a teenager. Posters hung over each wall, there was stuffed animals of various mascots from Japan, multiple game systems on the T.V. stand, action figures lined up on the shelves, and even the bed sheets was themed after a game, unknown to Edwig. Man, did he wish he had a room like this as a teen. 

He didn’t want to make a repeat of last time, and sat on the floor, downing the rest of his beer and throwing the can at the trashcan. He missed badly. The alcohol had began to thrust into his senses and dull them. His head was all ready getting fuzzy, and his body burning up. He felt everything becoming slower and his body weighing heavier than metal. He panted softly, and once again realized he should’ve ate something. Good job, moron. Twice in a row. He looked down at his hand, the one that touched hers. His eyes were losing focus, but they did linger on his palm long enough to burn the image in his retinas. 

His heart was beating rapidly, as if it wanted to burst out of his ribcage and drop to the floor. A few drops of sweat clung to his hair, and his thoughts were submerged in the deep end. That feeling of a woman’s hand...it was reminiscent of those two. Their soft hands, cradled under his and only his until they were drawn away. 

‘Maybe she’s onto me, yeah. That’s it, she likes me a lot,’ he thought, immediately feeling a rush disperse inside of him from the alcohol; encouraging his sexuality. Maybe orgasm and cum out all the despair of not seeing her face anymore and not being able to show love and- ‘What is wrong with me? This is gross, even for me,’ he slumped against the wall, and began to self loathe, as he did like always. 

Gross to even think of someone you just met like that. Absolutely disgusting. Even worse to think of this woman as an escapism from pain. People aren’t a way to help you help you escape your problems. 

He felt his eyes sting, reminding him that he had emotions to deal with. He brought his left hand up to his head, and delved his fingers into his scalp; feeling as if he could claw out the unwelcome thoughts and all the emotional pain he’s been dragged down with during his life. His other hand gripped the carpet, and he jerked his body into a position where it was hunched over. His eyes settled on the ground, quickly shifting in circles. He could hear his own heart racing, thumping erratically as he listened to his own breathing becoming more unsettled. Why was he even here? He doesn’t deserve to be in a social environment. He’s a filthy person who can’t contain even the littlest of things in his heart. It’s always like this. Once again, he started to cry with delayed sobs as he scrunched up his body, and bringing his arms around himself to hug himself tightly. He loathed only hearing his own cries; he much preferred not being able to hear these pathetic sounds. He almost wished he had stayed downstairs and wept silently, having his eardrums blasted into oblivion with whatever music played. But then, people would’ve seen this ugly side of him, without even knowing the guy. Not many people know he’s even like this. They only see him as a man with bland humor, a gloomy exterior, and that’s mostly quiet, unless around Elliot. No one would guess that he constantly tries to kill himself through half-assed attempts, misses his exes when apparently the way to do things is just fuck the next person like nothing happened, feels like a burden to everyone that surrounds him, barely can feel affection anymore, and has this contradictive state on wanting to get better yet wants to completely destroy himself. He’s the embodiment of mental illness and how much someone can allow despair take them over. This misery can’t easily be swept under the rug and forgotten by pills and a therapist. The pain will last forever and, as an adult, people say he should just ‘deal with it.’ 

“I want to go home,” his voice was unstable and kept shifting tones with each word, “I hate this. Why did I even come here? I should’ve never came. Why did he have me meet her-”

Hearing his own thoughts out loud hushed him a moment. What was he even saying? Was he ‘that’ scared to meet someone new? Or was it because she made him think of-

‘No, no, no,’ he shook his head, obviously with slower movements than usual, ‘I just have to not think about it, right? It’ll all just go away if I stop thinking about it,’ he comforted himself, yet, a part of him knew that he isn’t capable of this. He’s waiting for when his mind will be too hazy to even be coherent. He hates this. 

He saw his tears making the carpet moist, each droplet leaving a wet stain. He hated crying, it made him feel weak and childish. He obviously was acting like a child now. Throwing a tantrum. Loose strands of his hair slipped out of the barrette; his hair now disheveled. His brought his hand to his face, while the other remained wrapped around his body. The tears are bound to ruin his concealer, and he didn’t have any with him to adjust it after he was done with his pity party. He must look messy now. His hair all messed up. Under his eyes, it was puffy while his scleras were tinted with red. His nose was toned red, as well. His makeup becoming spoiled by the tears. 

“I don’t think I can go back downstairs. I look awful,” he whispered to himself, through the hushed voice that didn’t shake from sobs. 

But, he can’t escape. All he knew at the moment was to cry until he grew empty and numb. Till his heart froze over and all his emotions dripped away. Losing his humanity to a battle he can never win, yet tries to struggle against. He feels that he should just give up. It’s useless to try when you’re weak. The weak should just die, right? 

His legs refused to move, and he would hate himself more if Elliot found him having a fit yet again. He probably wouldn’t invite him to another party again for ‘acting out.’ He feels that he constantly embarrasses him with this. That he should just be grateful that someone is even trying to take him out. Appreciate that he has the opportunity to be around people, instead imagining being in his room 24/7 trying to stab himself when he didn’t focus too much on conversation. But, instead, right now, he’s being a spoiled brat that can’t even handle himself and needs people to babysit him to not become like this. This is it. He ruined everything. Everything. Everything is ruined thanks to his inability to adapt like the others. Disgusting. Disgusting. Disgust-

After some time, when his eyes were cleared up enough to look at anything, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It took a moment to process the numbers, and he even had to take a double take at it. It was around 3 AM. He had another fit that lasted for quite a while. On the inside, he felt dull. His mind was still hazy, but his thoughts couldn’t even hurt him anymore. The hurt is gone for now, but it’ll come back like it always does. At the least the alcohol helped with numbing it, partially. His mind becoming more blank from his breakdown and the alcohol completely settling in. 

‘Fuck, I really should get back to the group. I’ll just clean my face, and adjust my pony tail. That’ll be enough I guess…..’ he lifted himself up slowly to not fall over, dried his tears, and went to twist the knob, but stopped once he heard loud wailing, ‘Wait, I know that cry from anywhere. Is that…?’

He swung open the door and caught a glimpse, just in time, of which door was slammed shut. It was the one to the bathroom. He didn’t hear it lock, which made him all the more relieved. He shut the door behind him. After a couple wobbly steps, he was in front of the door and heard retching sounds. He’s puking up a lung in there, isn’t he? He opened it, and saw Elliot, kneeling lazily over a toilet and emptying the contents of his stomach while sobbing simultaneously. He was a complete mess and it made Edwig worry. What happened? He closed the door behind him. He crouched next to Elliot, which took all his strength to not fall forward. He caressed his back, trying to comfort him in some way. It was awful to see someone like this. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For letting you see me like this,” his face perked up from the toilet bowl and Edwig could see vomit trickling from his lips, as well as tears and snot trailing from their respective places, “I-I...I hate letting you see this. I don’t want you to,” he hiccuped before turning his face into the bowl to puke a little more, and wheezed right after, “You have enough on your plate. I don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“Of course I’m going to worry. Tell me what’s wrong, I’ll-”

“NO! Just, stop, please,” he begged, “I don’t want to bother you.”

“You aren’t bothering me at all.”

For a moment, Elliot silenced himself. The lids over his eyes drooped down, making them look small as tears kept trailing down his cheeks. He flashed a small, yet weak smile before his lips turned into a frown. It took a few minutes for him to speak up. Elliot was reluctant to speak after all. He hated telling his problems to someone that is severely ill as it is. He just hopes someone else comes to his rescue, and not a complete wreck that can’t handle himself. Once again, this speculation belonged to Edwig. 

“Edwig,” he started with saying his name, “I just…I can’t seem to get over it. Why can’t I move on? I miss her so much, like so much,” he sobbed even harder as more tears flown, “I miss my grandma. I miss her so much, and I can’t seem to feel any less awful. Why did she have to die,” he inhaled, trying to block more snot from coming out, “She used to make me pastelitos and we’d sit down, talk about going to the beach in San Juan to take pictures or feed pigeons. I used to help her pick pears off the tree once it was ready and tend to her garden,” he kept spilling out whatever came to mind, “I miss that. They tell me to cherish the memories we had together, but it hurts. They were good memories, but it’s painful to know that I can no longer make anymore memories with her.” 

His grandmother died this year from a heart attack. That is pretty sad.

“Why couldn’t it have been me instead? She deserves a life more than I do,” Elliot finished with his vent on that note. It struck something in Edwig.

This familiar feeling. This...reminded Edwig of his younger sister. A miscarriage at 8 months. The feelings of wanting it to have been his own death over hers. A life that could’ve turned out great, unlike his. His own life being filled with nothing but depression, anxiety, booze and tears. Here, he wastes away while his sister could’ve been something, an important person. He doesn’t deserve praise at all for what he does. He’s just a pathetic, hopeless romantic that fantasizes about suicide and even now, can’t even find the right words to make his friend feel better, reflecting on his own misery instead of being completely focused on Elliot’s. What an awful supporter he is. 

He could feel those nostalgic feelings of grief rush in. He wanted to pull him close, and hug him till all the tears ran dry and all the sobs were heard from the high heavens. But, obviously, he can’t do that with Elliot puking every minute, so he substituted with caressing his hair. Elliot’s hair being played with always calmed him down, ever since they were young. Please, just be good again. Be happier like the old days. The old days are missed. Let’s go back in time and forget our problems. Let’s forget being adults and be kids again, where booze wasn’t our escape from our problems, fun times were! 

“Elliot,” they both heard Amelia’s voice question, pondering who was behind the door. 

“Yeah, I’m in he-” before he could finish the last word, he began puking again, making Edwig flinch and stop touching his hair. 

Amelia opened the door, her expression showing how much worry she felt. She walked to the other side of Elliot, and bent over, caressing his back. It’s a good thing that she didn’t need to hold back any hair. Edwig got to his feet, clumsily and leaned against the door for support and gave a bored expression.. 

“Hey, Edwig, you can go now. I’ll take care of things from here,” she looked up, rubbing his back, “Go have fun, he’ll be fine.” 

His reaction to her words were slow, as he didn’t process them at first. But, once he did, he gave her the ‘okay’ gesture. He didn’t feel like it would be the best idea to walk away because his friend is a sobbing mess in front of him, but at the same time, he wanted to go home. So, he went with taking this chance. Although, it will make him feel bad for leaving Elliot and putting her under the impression that he’ll stick around. 

Once he shut the door, he noticed a woman across the hall. Oh no. It’s her. Fuck. 

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing some of her hair behind her ear, “She told me that Elliot isn’t doing so well. Is he okay?”

“Uh, yeah.” 

All right. Now, take this moment to walk away. Go home to sleep. That’s how it should go. Take this moment to walk away. Take this moment to walk away. TAKE THIS MOMENT TO WALK-

“Hey, uh, so, there’s a room over there we can hang out in and wait for Elliot and Amelia. No one’s inside and we can just chill. I want to get to know you. It’ll be quiet so we can talk casually.”

A part of him knew that he had made a mistake. That he would grow to regret this later, and punish himself once he gets home. He really didn’t want to do this. He just wanted to seem polite, and not increase the anxiety he was experiencing by just standing there awkwardly, unsure of how to part ways. Although, from this view, she would see him leave and probably bring it to Elliot and Amelia’s attention. And he couldn’t just say, ‘I’m gonna go home because I’m a really depressed fuck that can’t function, so bye!’ And he didn’t want to ditch Elliot again, now that he thought about it with the last two brain cells he had left. 

“Uh, yeah, let’s go.” she replied, walking closer to him and appearing more comfortable, even flashing a smile through her anxiety. 

He gave a soft chuckle, but he wasn’t sure whether it was from the relief of her not thinking he’s a creep for wanting to be alone together or that he’s scared with how he’s going to mess things up immediately with this girl. Just like he messed everything else up. Like he always does. He ruins the relationships he has with people through stupid things by accidentally using them as a way to pacify his loneliness, smothering them with his affection, or pushing them away to ‘protect’ them from a ‘digusting person.’ He couldn’t think properly either, and just looking at her made him want to puke. She was….obnoxiously feminine. Her bangs were chopped, and the rest of her blonde hair spilled down just above her behind. Her eyes were a soft brown with long eyelashes, and she had a fair complexion. It seemed as if she wasn’t wearing much makeup, so this was mainly her natural beauty he was seeing. Her purple strapless dress was very short, merely covering her thighs and the top part of it exposed her breasts more than most dresses would. She wore short heels, and panty hose. He considered that maybe part of her discomfort came from the revealing outfit. Maybe Amelia convinced her to dress a more ‘flirty’ way for the party or maybe...to seem attractive to Edwig. That’s scummy either way. 

He opened the door, and allowed her in first. He then closed the door. He really didn’t want to be bothered by anyone else. He didn’t want to be with this girl right now. But, he felt it would make Elliot happy if they at least talked more than their introduction to one another. She gently plopped herself against the bed, and crossed her leg over the other. Her hands were clasped together in her lap. He noticed how she was taking in the view, and couldn’t tell if she digs the geek aesthetic just as much as he did. For some reason, in this state of mind, he admired her innocent expression. But, he couldn’t tell if he was reading her correctly. He can’t even tell what face he was making now, it felt as if he didn’t have one. After a moment, he made his way over to the bed and lazily sat, feeling himself fall down harder than he should’ve. The mattress squealed beneath his weight. He felt ashamed at how much he weighed. 

There was a closed-mouth laugh, it came from her. What was it? Did she laugh at him? What for? Is she making fun of him? Does she take him as a joke? Is he a joke? That’s what it feels like. His life is a joke that’s been dragged out for far too long. Where’s the end of the punch line?

“You must’ve drank too much,” she giggled softly, “Sorry, sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

That sound, it was reminiscent of them. The laughter at his stupidity. Even if it was embarrassing, it made them smile. He liked making the both of them smile. But, were they smiling anymore? One found a new man, and moved on. The other, he doesn’t know a damn thing. He doesn’t know anything. As of now, he’s even too damn dense to recognize that his mind should focus on the present, not the past. Even now, he’s reliving past events rather than making new ones. Even if they sing a similar tune, they’re new and shouldn’t be compared to the others. He should look forward to the future, rather than live in those events that happened and are gone. Find someone to replace them. Look into Verona and imagine them inside of her.

“Hah, yeah. Sorry, I am kinda drunk,” he didn’t want to bring to light his depressive thoughts, otherwise, they’ll ooze out of his forehead and drip onto his lips, making everything worse, “Uh, anyways, what types of drinks do you like?”

He wanted to start conversation, even if it was the most awful starter. But, it did make things come along smoothly. She confessed things about herself, as did he. It was an engaging conversation, none of it being one-sided. Actively, they both enjoyed talking to one another. Even if some replies were more pessimistic rather than about the ‘good things,’ they were having fun. Even through some of the accidental slurring, pausing to think or process, or correcting himself, she understood what he was saying. It wasn’t long till he scooted closer, compared to the wide gap they had before and wanted to show his comfort. Let’s become friends. Maybe another friend will help. Showing her that he was friendly by becoming closer to her. But, he knew the tension was rising. They eventually started to discuss relationships, their shared pain, and how they’re both single. It’s clear that they needed to steal this moment from one another now. Things are bound to unravel. Leave two adults in a room that are under the influence of alcohol, and you’ve got yourself a possible amature porno. But, he tried to keep his mind out of the gutter, despite her charming personality and seductive appearance luring him in. Although, it did seem she finally submit to her urges once she experimentally placed her hand on his shoulder, and gave him bedroom eyes. She massaged it lovingly, and brought herself closer, making their faces not too far apart from one another. He didn’t complain, and allowed this behavior. 

“I like you. You’re cute enough. Maybe it’s the alcohol making me want to act romantic, but I’m not even sure myself,” she averted her gaze, pausing a moment to correctly phrase her words, “What do you think? Do like me too,” he wasn’t sure if this was her attempt at abandoning those feelings she had for her ex, or if she genuinely thought he was attractive enough to bang. 

He only gazed at her, barely making out the features in her face from how blurry his vision was becoming. She became a portrait of random colors, all blurring into one big blob. But, he didn’t care about his eyes or what she looked like. He wanted to feel her. To feel something else besides the pain inside himself and completely go numb, despite how heavy his body felt. Instead of saying a word, he grabbed her by the cheek, tilted his head, and pressed his chapped lips against hers. It tasted sickly sweet and felt soft. She sharply exhaled into the kiss, and encouraged him by rubbing his shoulder. They gave multiple kisses, wanting to savor the contact, the feeling of sentimental and pleasure fueled contact that they both lacked. During their kiss, she kicked off her shoes and he peeled off a layer of clothing, his jacket. She eventually shifted her position from sitting beside him to swinging her legs over his sides and wrapping them around his back. He scooted further back into the bed, instead of sitting at the edge. Her thighs molded around his sides, as if it was a puzzle piece being put into the correct place, but he knew this was all wrong. She rested both of her arms on his shoulders, before wrapping them around his neck. Both of his hands are planted on her thighs, feeling up her curves. It wasn’t long till she introduced her tongue, asking for entry by licking his lips. He got the memo, and parted his teeth for her. Hungrily, they massaged their tongues against one another before parting their lips from one another to only bring them together again. It was awkward, sloppily done, and rushed. But, it did give them the feeling they wanted. They both tasted like alcohol on the inside, and it made him want to drain the taste out of her till there was nothing left. 

From both his drunkeness and arousal, the blood rushed down into his groin and gave him an erection. She felt it. Desperately, she rubbed herself against him, repeating the motions as she felt his erection twitch and his breath hitch. His body reacted with jerks at random moments. He grabbed her behind tightly, and synchronized with her movement, grinding against her. She felt warm between her legs, but it couldn’t compare to the others. Fuck it. At this point, saliva was dripping down both of their lips. Their clinginess towards one another only enhanced, even allowing their breathing to mess up from not taking as many breaks as they should. 

He brought his left hand up towards her chest, and carelessly tugged down her dress, exposing her breasts. She ranged around size B with areolas that are a light pink, and veins that were faintly showing beneath her light skin. Cupping her breast, he eventually pinched the nipple between his fingers, and toyed with it. His other hand continued to squeeze her behind.

She produced soft sounds of pleasure, which only drew him in more. He wanted to devour her. Finally, she gathered the courage to pull back, despite him wanting to keep the sensual contact and looked at him. She was dew-eyed, and the blood rushed to her cheeks, leaving a faint hint of red. Her lips glossed with saliva drew into a cocky smile as she drew back both of her arms and dropped her hands down towards his jeans. She began to undo the belt, and then moved on to the button. When she reached the zipper, she clipped the slider between her fingers and dragged it down. The sound startled him, making him look down before he looked back up at her. This is a sound he hated hearing. This is the same thing they did to him. He tensed and widened his eyes in horror. He almost screamed, feeling his body jump under her.

Verona was startled, and gave him a worried stare, drawing her hands away from his pants. 

“What’s wrong? Are we moving too fast? Do you want to stop,” she asked. 

He paused a moment, bringing more worry to her. 

“It’s all good, let’s continue. I’m okay, just haven’t done this in awhile, I’m a little shy,” he tried to play it off with an excuse, but he wasn’t sure if she was convinced. 

Reluctantly, she got back to what she was doing and pulled the slider all the way down. She delved her hand into his boxers. She stroked him, copping a feel before she would release it from it’s cage. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to her seeing him naked, but he’s glad the feelings aren’t mutual or this would’ve never went anywhere. He wanted to forget the depressive thoughts and experience the awful euphoria from sex. After a couple of moments, she gripped it and brought it out of the boxer hole, having it stand up. She didn’t look down yet, and only went back to kissing him. His nerves wouldn’t relax and he didn’t know how to communicate this to her. He only squeezed her breast harder, allowing her to pump him. He wanted to sink into the mattress, and disperse into fibers so she can’t touch him anymore. He felt embarrassed and humiliated. Why was he letting a stranger touch him? This isn’t love, it’s disgusting. 

She took it upon herself to press him back against the bed. He simply accepted this position and didn’t fight back. She lifted herself up, pulling her panties to the side and, to his surprise, there was a hole in her pantyhose to make herself more ‘accessible.’ Did she have this planned beforehand? She exposed herself, but he couldn’t see anything from this view and simply gazed at her face, glistening with sweat. She positioned the head against her entrance. The feeling of this made him want to vomit. He brought his arm over his eyes, shielding the few tears that spilled out, and sniffling quietly. 

He couldn’t do this. He can’t keep pretending it’s her. 

He removed his arm and looked up at the ceiling. This was his limit. He couldn’t take it anymore. This wasn’t fine at all, he hated all of it. It didn’t feel good, his body is betraying him from the booze, but what was left of his mind knew better. If this goes on, he feels like a part of him might melt away. He doesn’t feel ‘whole’ as it is. He doesn’t want to keep losing himself. He wanted to get away. 

“Let’s stop this,” he said abruptly, “I don’t think I can do this, and you’re fooling yourself if you think you’re fine with this,” he slowly sat up, pushing her back a bit to not let her settle against his junk, but on his legs, “We’re just two lonely people who want to replace another person we love in each other. That’s…we’re just licking each other’s wounds by doing this. I can’t do this anymore. Sorry,” he apologized, trying to ease the burn as he looked down at her stomach.

She looked back at him, shocked by the shift in attitude. Everything seemed well to her up until now. Her reaction wasn’t immediate, and took a few moments. Finally, her eyes started to well up with tears. A choked sob came from between her lips, he hurt her bad. She lifted herself off of him, and walked away far from the bed. She adjusted her clothing back into place to cover herself. He fixed himself, and pulled his jacket back on. He didn’t anticipate that she’d break down now, and anticipated a slap with her stomping off. But, instead, she collapsed to the floor like a heart broken girl ditched on prom night. She drew her knees up, and buried her face between her arms. She sobbed uncontrollably from the rejection. He felt bad, but he knew that if he continued, he was going to do irreversible damage to both her and himself. It’s better to end it this way. 

“See ya, Verona. It was nice meeting you.” 

The rest was all a haze. He found his way home somehow, and ended up on his porch. He stared into the window, a curtain obscuring any view inside. Once he realized what he was doing, he snapped out of it and walked towards the door. It took him a dozen tries, but he managed to stick the key into the hole and unlocked the door. All the lights were off. It was 5 AM after all. He didn’t bother taking his shoes off, and fell against the last two steps on the stairs. He laid there as he zoned out. He felt awful all over and was in desperate need of some sleep. Or more alcohol. Once he had enough strength in his legs again, he stood up and dragged his body up the steps. It felt like it was too many, but he made it up to the top. He wasn’t as silent as he thought he would be. He accidentally fell against the wall at the start, and even stomped from how heavy his legs felt towards the bathroom. He didn’t care if he woke up anyone at this point. 

He felt nauseous, and just wanted to relieve himself of the awful feeling. He clumsily opened the bathroom door and, on accident, slammed it. It had sounded quiet in his head. He dropped to the ground in front of the toilet, opened the lid, and shoved his finger to the back of his throat. Finally, that feeling of sickness hit its peak as he began to vomit. He hated the feeling in his stomach. Some got on his hand from being too slow to move it. Once he was drained enough, he flushed and watched it swirl down the drain. He pulled himself up with the support of the toilet. He grabbed the sink, and dragged himself in front of it. His mouth tasted awful and he could smell it. That alone made him feel more sick. Brushing his teeth is top priority. But, he hoped that he’d be able to stomach the strong minty taste without puking again. 

The toothpaste was behind the mirror. He didn’t look up until it was opened to avoid looking at himself. On the lower section, he saw a bottle of painkillers. It was aspirin. Of all things, it was this specific one. The one he considered offing himself with on his next birthday. This isn’t going to be good. 

He always calculated how much it would take to kill himself from reliable sources online. Mostly ones that helped a doctor determine an overdose, the doses someone should take to overdose, and how they can help it depending on severity, age, sex, and weight. Edwig had research jotted down in the “notes” app on his phone. 

“88 kg = 196 lbs

88/2.2 = 40 which equals to 40,000 mg for overdose (my weight) 

$3.64 Walmart bottle: Aspirin has 500 ct, 325 milligrams of each

500 x 325 = 162,500 mg  
162,500 = 162.5 grams

This will definitely result in death.” 

His head was blank. Without thinking, he grabbed the bottle and brought it to his face. He shut the mirror, and threw himself against the toilet, making the lid shake and almost break off. He examined the bottle, but none of the words made sense. He couldn’t read it, all the words fused together. The tiny black print wouldn’t become comprehensible. He knew what the bottle was based on the colors that decorated the label. 

‘I-’

He didn’t know what to say. He felt as if he had said all the words he needed to say for today. Actually, for every day. That there is nothing else to say or think. There’s nothing else to do. He did everything he had to. Everything that, in essence, was done when it came to living. He ate, slept, went out to places, drank, smoke, lost his virginity, and other things most people did. He made enough memories for himself and shared with others. The majority of them unpleasant or miserable. He wanted to forget those the most. His mind was flooded with enough information and he experienced enough intimacy and trauma. He saw and heard everything through the screen, through himself, or through others. There were no more trees, restaurants, or amusement parks he needed to see. 

Of all the things he could do now, he only knew one thing left to do: die. It was the only rational thing to do. Nothing made sense anymore. None of it mattered anymore. He was tired, and just wanted to sleep. Even through the drunken haze, he still felt his heart aching. He still felt the pain. Nothing worked to make him feel better, and he felt that he’d never improve. Everything just seemed pointless and not worth the effort. Being the useless person he is, it’d just be a waste to fix someone without worth. 

He opened the cap, and let it drop to the floor. He stared inside of it, seeing pure white contained within the bottle. White seemed comforting. It’s the color of purity, clouds, snow, walls, flowers, wedding dresses, milk…and the morgue.

Before, he had contemplated the stench his corpse would leave behind and how his expression would look. Or the position his body would remain posed in. Or how his mom would have to waste her time calling an ambulance to have his body placed in a bag, and wheeled out while she had to clean up the mess left behind as his dad complained to her about ‘babying’ him too much. And how better Edwig’s elder sister was for being successful, married, and giving grandkids. 

But, he couldn’t focus on that now. His death drive was more active than ever, and he knew that this was his moment to do something for once in his life. That, through all his years of living, he’ll show his greatest accomplishment by his death. He never achieved anything and felt that he’ll never make a dent in history. He wasn’t anything special, and was always the blacksheep in his family. Never standing out. Never making contributions to society. He didn’t do anything. He truly was a worthless piece of trash. Someone that didn’t deserve to live and needed to apologize for being a burden and wasting the time of anyone who’s ever interacted with him. He’ll apologize by his death. 

He brought the bottle up to his lips, he wanted to take them all. All 500. 

This is the time to do it. Edwig, don’t be a coward.

He tipped it, slightly positioning it against closed lips as if he was going to drink something. 

Apologize. Apologize for everything you have done wrong. Everything you ever did. 

He parted his lips and a few fell against his tongue, but his tongue shielded his throat to not let them fall in yet. 

Everything, all the pain and despair will be gone now. It’ll all disappear so you won’t have to ache anymore. You won’t hurt yourself or anyone ever again. You were never meant to be born. No one cares, no one loves you. Humanity never wanted you. You were always a nuisance and a trouble maker. Mostly a whiny crybaby who never did anything right. An anxious, depressed idiot who can’t even take care of himself or get better. A defect that can’t ever be fixed by chemicals or conversations. 

His eyes started to feel moist, tears were forming. 

You’re a waste, you’re a loser, you won’t go far. Everything you try to do to change your life will not be worth it. You’re a disgusting pervert. Nothing about you will ever be right. End it right here, right now. 

His hand started to tremble as the pills dissolved against his tongue, leaving a disgusting taste. 

Redeem yourself through death. Everyone will be happy if you’re gone. You’re disposable. You’re just another human being. No one will miss you when you’re gone. You don’t deserve to live. 

All of his emotions were all colliding into one. 

Don’t feel bad. Let yourself go. Don’t hesitate. This is your time to apologize. You’re expired. Your life is over. Accept it. Accept your fate. Allow yourself to embrace despair completely, and finally sleep in your coffin that has been set out since you were 8.

He was at a stand still. He didn’t know what to do. What should he do? 

DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE, DIE. 

Suddenly, he spit the pills out. They dropped to the floor, sticking against it thanks to his saliva. His lips trembled as he inhaled deeply and felt his body cave in, dropping the pill bottle and hearing the impact of it a thousand times louder. His hand, open as if it still held the bottle, shook. He didn’t speak. He began to bawl. Whimpering and whining his feelings out. The feelings he tried to avoid through forcing his world to seem monotone, and devoid of anything worth fretting about by drinking himself silly will never work. 

His emotions were a stir fry of despair, anger, shame, and embarrassment. He was a mess. A mess of mental disorders, abandonment issues, existential dread, and unhealthy escapisms. Showcasing the loss of stability humanity can face with a flawed brain. He did nothing but wallow in his misery. 

Hurriedly, he brought both of his hands to his eyes to cover them. Preventing his tears from dropping to the floor. He didn’t want to see anything. 

He didn’t want to feel anything. 

He didn’t want to deal with anything anymore. 

The sadness will last forever.


End file.
